


Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy

by spencerreld (plantmajor)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: (totally did), Angst, Doctor AU, Grey's Anatomy - Freeform, M/M, Moreid, Slow Burn, reid declined gideon's bau offer and was like 'fuck it time to be a doctor', sperek - Freeform, totally didn't take inspiration from grey's anatomy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantmajor/pseuds/spencerreld
Summary: A doctor, an agent, and a scalpel all walk into a bar.(or,  Spencer and Derek yearn to forget each other due to past scars, but Virginia Grace Hospital is always the FBI's go-to hospital.)





	1. Deny, Deny, Deny

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? i'm unsure if i should continue this or go any further with it. 
> 
> also, the timeline might be a bit wonky.

 

“The key to surviving a surgical internship is denial. We deny that we're tired, we deny that we're scared, we deny how badly we want to succeed. And most importantly, we deny that we're in denial. We only see what we want to see and believe what we want to believe, and it works. We lie to ourselves so much that after a while the lies start to seem like the truth. We deny so much that we can't recognize the truth right in front of our faces. Sometimes reality has a way of sneaking up and biting us in the ass. And when the dam bursts, all you can do is swim. The world of pretend is a cage, not a cocoon. We can only lie to ourselves for so long. We are tired, we are scared, denying it doesn't change the truth. Sooner or later we have to put aside our denial and face the world. Head on, guns blazing. De Nile. It's not just a river in Egypt, it's a freakin' ocean. So how do you keep from drowning in it?”  
-Grey’s Anatomy (2x4)

  
—

 

Spencer had seen his fair share of gunshot wounds during his four years at Virginia Grace Teaching Hospital. If you asked him, he could tell you the exact number of them. Give him two more minutes and he could tell you how many died, how many lived, and how many had to get a body part sawed off. Each one he’d try to forget, and each one he’d never try to remember; especially the ones that he would have to watch cry, yell, and grieve.

He didn’t know why he stayed in Virginia anyways. He’d moved here to stay close to his old mentor, but after the two went their own separate ways, he didn’t have anything keeping him here. After Spencer graduated from med school, there were multiple teaching hospitals across the nation, most better than Virginia Grace itself, that had lined up outside his door, all ridden with opportunities.

But he stayed in Virginia, and to this day he didn’t know why. When the trauma came in that night, all he knew was that he didn’t regret staying there the second he saw her.

“What is it?”

“30 year old female, single GSW, chest to abdomen.” The emergency responder said, pulling the gurney into trauma room one.

Spencer signaled for two interns to raise the patient off the gurney, the two struggling for a second before putting her on the table. Immediately, he went into action, flexing his fingers before he opened his mouth. “Pulse?”

“Tachy in the 140s.” A brunette resident answered, grabbing a syringe and pushing something into an iv.

“Dropped her systolic to 78.”

Spencer put his hands over the wound, applying as pressure as he could while another attending began suctioning the blood from the entry point. He couldn’t help but look at the patient’s face, her blonde hair with pink tips and dimples on her cheeks. Based on her clothes, he felt as if this girl was not like any other person. He could tell that when he went out into the waiting room to give an update, he’d be informing a whole army of people that loved her very much.

He sighed. Getting attatched to his patients wouldn’t help, but if she died; for some reason, imagining it made his blood run cold.

“What’s her name?” Spencer asked, his gaze resting on her face. He got strange looks from the brunette resident, who was about five years older than him.

He knew that the resident, Linda, didn’t really like him. They’d gone to Stanford together, and their first year, they were in the same classes. Then he’d skipped a few years, and managed to get into a fellowship before her. Spencer knew he wasn’t well liked in the hospital, but most kept it to themselves, with comments to their friends as he walked past. Yet Linda always made her hatred and jealousy clear, especially since he was an attending and she was still a third year resident.

“Why is it pertinent?” She asked, her tone dripping with venom.

“Just tell me.” He shot back, looking up a for a second, staring into her eyes. “Please.”

“Penelope.” The emergency responder said from the door. “Her ID said Penelope Garcia.”

Spencer nodded, and was about to say something more when he was interrupted by one of the interns from before. “She’s hypoventilating. SATs are dropping— 82.”

“Hand me the bag!” He shouted, grabbing the ventilator from someone (at this point, he couldn’t care less who). He was focused on saving this woman.

Spencer began to breathe for Penelope now, pumping air into her chest while someone put up another bag of blood up as she kept losing more. “Hang in there, Penelope.” He muttered, even though he didn’t know why.

“Tachy in the 140s.”

“Dropped her systolic to 78.”

Spencer cursed under his breath and looked at the intern in front of him. “Let the OR know we’re coming.” He instructed, and when the intern went running off, he turned to Linda. “I need to intubate. Get me a 7 and a half tube.”

Linda scowled, but didn’t retort, passing him a tube like he asked. When he was finished intubating, he caught a glance at the monitors and bit his lip. “BPs 60 over 80. We need to get her to an OR, stat.”

__

 

“She's in v-tach.” A nurse in light blue scrubs said alarmingly, her eyes slightly widened. The mood in the operating room turned dark, and people started to get frantic.

“Get me the defibrillator.” Linda instructed, putting gel on the pads before raising them up over the patient’s chest. “Charge to 360 and clear.”

“Wait. we gotta find the bleeder.” Spencer said, voice calm. “Suction.” He told to the intern next to him, who leaned into the wound and used the clear tube to suck up all the blood.

“She'll go into v-fib.” The brunette argued, her lips already curled up into her signature scowl. She glared at the back of Spencer’s neck, beginning to lower the defibrillator closer to Penelope’s chest.

“We have to find the bleeder. Clamps.” He repeated, and the intern dropped the sucker and picked up clamps, putting them into the incision and holding them as steadily as she could. “Just give me a minute.”

__

 

“Another 750 out of the chest tube.”

“How’s it getting up there when she’s bleeding up here?” Spencer muttered to himself, his voice loud enough for the other surgeons around the patient to hear.

“Pressure’s dropping.” The same nurse from before called out, pushing a syringe into the iv. “67 over 42.”

“How could happen?” Linda asked out loud, grabbing a sucker and sucking up the blood in the chest cavity. It took Spencer a few seconds to think, his hands freezing with the scalpel and gauze still in the wound. “The bullet must have ripped right through the diaphragm..” He answered, trailing off.

“And bagged the splenic artery.” The intern beside him finished, replying before Linda could. She turning pink when Spencer smiled at her, giving her a good job before going back to his work.

Linda rolled her eyes. “Ten points to Gryffindor.” She said under her breath.

“Put direct pressure.” He said to Linda, pointing to the chest. “Right here. She’s bleeding way to quickly.” Spencer didn’t want her to die, though he couldn’t understand why he felt so strongly about it. In another universe, he sensed that they were two sides of the same coin, and that if she died he would get a different kind of hell when he went out there.

When Spencer started his residency, he could barely go into the waiting room at all; especially when he was bearing bad news. When it was good news, he would get hugged and one time he could barely breathe when it happened. When it was bad, people would yell and he really, really didn’t like when people yelled.

“More blood.” Linda’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. She groaned, “We’re way behind. I need more suction. More pressure.”

“All right. Keep pressure on the artery while I tie her off.” Spencer instructed her, and for once, Linda listened, waving for a nurse to come and help. “Okay, Hold on.” When he said that last part, though, he wasn’t sure whether he was telling himself, Linda, or Penelope.

“V-fib!” Spencer shouted when he looked up from her wound a few minutes later. Not even a second later, her heartbeat changed. “She’s flatlining!’ He usually didn’t call those things out; he figured it brought more attention to himself than needed. But now, he couldn’t wait a moment more.

“Charge to 300. Clear.” Linda called, and Penelope’s chest moved upwards. “No change.”

“360. Clear!” She repeated.

“Lidocaine 100, on the bones.” He could hear himself say, but it felt like it wasn’t him. Almost like he was in another world.

“No change.”

“This isn’t working.”

“Charge to 400.”

“Clear!”

“She’s back.” Someone said, and Spencer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding back. “Good job guys.”

Spencer went back to his open cavity, taking out the large clamp that was in it and putting it on the surgical tray beside him. “Whew. All right.” He sighed, taking a deep breath to put himself back together. “Suction.”

__

  
He stands in a corner, still in his bloody scrubs, his surgical mask hanging around his neck. This is his favorite spot after a surgery, especially if he’s the leading surgeon, because then it gives him time to think before giving the news. The spot has a wide view of the waiting room, with Spencer being able to see who was waiting, and with a trick from his old mentor, he was able to expect how they would react.

Spencer looked at the seven people impatiently waiting for information on their loved ones. There was a couple sitting farther away than everyone else, holding hands and talking to each other in hushed tones. The woman was gripping a child’s toy, and a few tears began to fall from her eyes. Spencer looked away; that was already explainable.

There was a man that was pacing back and forth a few feet away. He had a wedding band on his right hand that he kept fingering. The bags under his eyes and his tousled hair showed that he hadn’t slept in a while.

The other four looked very professional: the two men were in suits and the two women were in pantsuits. They were huddled together in a way that Spencer couldn’t really see their faces, and one of the women, a blonde, was on the phone, looking around anxiously.

Looking down at Penelope’s chart in his hands, he saw her occupation written in neat lettering: FBI Technical Analyst. He figured they were her team. One man, with dark hair, took out his phone and accepted a call, walking off to where Spencer couldn’t see him.

A dark-skinned man came up to them, looking frantic as he ran hand on his scalp. The blonde saw him approach, and sighed in relief, putting away her phone. “She’s been in surgery a few hours.” She said and the guy sat down in defeat.

“I was in church.” He muttered to himself. “My phone was turned off.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve been doing here.” The other woman replied, putting a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder.

“The police got any leads?” The man asked, looking up at the other two men in suits.

The other man (Italian, probably, due to his Italian leather shoes and the way he kept cursing in Italian) shook his head. “I spoke to the lead detective. He doesn’t think we’ll get anything from the scene.”

Taking a deep breath, Spencer decided this was his time to get involved. He stepped out of the corner, and inconspicuously made his way into the waiting room. He looked down at his clipboard, trying to hide his face like he usually did when the family of patients met him. They always thought he was too young to be there and always demanded to see the surgeon in charge of their loved one’s surgery (“Uh, Ma'am, I am the surgeon in charge”).

“Penelope Garcia?” Spencer said out loud, not looking away from the clipboard until he heard the two ladies from before say yes in unison.

He met the eyes of the dark-skinned man (agent?), and for some reason felt his heart melt away. Spencer was never the type to fawn over people, but up close, this guy was more handsome. The man’s eyes, though, held darkness, and Spencer made himself look away, beginning his speech once he was planted in front of them.

“The bullet went in her chest and ricocheted into her abdomen. She lost a lot of blood. It was touch-and-go for a while, but we were able to repair the injuries.”

“So what are you saying?” The raven haired girl asked with a frown.

Spencer cleared his throat before continuing. “One centimeter over and it would have torn right through her heart. Instead, she could actually walk out of here in a couple of days. And I'd say that's a minor miracle.”

  
There was a pregnant pause, before the dark-skinned agent, who was still eyeing Spencer even after they broke contact spoke. “You’re a bit too young to be a doctor, aren't you?”

“Morgan!” The blonde scolded before slapping him on the back of his head.

“Hey, hey!” Morgan defended, raising his arms like a criminal one do when they were cornered by police. “We were all thinking it.”

“He’s right.” The Italian shrugged. “At least, I was.”

Spencer sighed; this was a long time coming. “Well, actually,” He began, ready to give his speech about being a so-called genius and having also two BAs, three PhDs, etc. when he was interrupted by a voice he hadn’t heard since the last time he saw his mentor.

“Doctor Reid.” Aaron Hotchner said as he pocketed his phone, the team and Spencer almost comically turning to him at the same time.

“Agent Hotchner.” Spencer replied after taking a deep breath.

“It’s good to see you again. I see you’ve settled in well.” The unit chief continued. “What are you, in your last year of residency?”

“Actually, I’m a trauma attending.” A pause, and Spencer continued. “This is your team?”

“The BAU team, yes.” Hotch started to walk closer to them, a grim look on his face. “Garcia’s out of surgery, then?”

Spencer looked at his clipboard, then back up to Hotch, his face a bit red. “Uh, yes, um. Yeah. She’s sleeping right now, and she needs her rest, so please don’t try to wake her up so soon. Room 9725, in the recovery wing.”

The team, still looking a little confused, muttered their thank you’s, and began making their way to room 9725. Morgan kept glancing back, his face expressionless.

Hotch took a step towards them, but then looked back at Spencer, who was looking at the team with confusion also etched on his face.

“Gideon’s retired.” Hotch said after a moment. “But his offer still stands; you would be a great asset to our team.”

Spencer blinked owlishly, standing in place as he watched Hotch disappear down the corridor his team had just gone down. He took another deep breath, trying to put the pieces of himself together.

After he got into medical school, all he did was deny that Jason Gideon had ever happened. Deny that he’d had the chance to achieve his dream, and deny that he’d said no.

His pager beeped and Spencer turned and continued his day, trying to keep the thoughts of the BAU team out of his head.

 


	2. Enough is Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> figured that it would be about time to give you guys a chapter. it's not as long as i wanted it to be, but the response to this was much better than i ever expected.
> 
> sorry for the wait. enjoy!

"I have an aunt who whenever she poured anything for you she would say "Say when!" My aunt would say "Say when!" and of course, we never did. We don't say when because there's something about the possibility, of more. More tequila, more love, more anything. More is better. There's something to be said about a glass half full. About knowing when to say when. I think it's a floating line. A barometer of need and desire. It's entirely up to the individual. And depends on what's being poured. Sometimes all we want is a taste. Other times there's no such thing as enough, the glass is bottomless. And all we want, is more." 

-Grey's Anatomy (2x2)

 

__

 

Derek hadn't even noticed that he had shut his phone off. Ever since he first accompanied his mother to a small, rundown church near the Center, with the dusty stained glass windows and the musty smell, he always put away his distractions and closed his eyes and breathed. It was a reflex; muscle memory, where he slapped shut his phone and put it in his back pocket.

And if he didn't and his phone rang, he’d probably be scolded by the preacher.

Even though Derek knew he shouldn't had felt guilty, especially after the others had reassured him, he still couldn't help the feeling of disgust at himself when he opened his phone and saw the notification of seventeen missed phone calls. He should have been there for her, for Garcia, who could’ve _died._ Derek never really thought he’d been in this position. She was a technical analyst, she shouldn't have been shot, that wasn't in her job description.

When Derek rushed through the hospital, asking three nurse’s stations for the waiting room (two giving him directions to the wrong ones; who knew there were so many waiting rooms in the hospital) and when he got there all he could focus on was the grim looks on his team’s faces and the blood rushing through his veins.

JJ acknowledged his arrival first, slapping her phone shut and giving him a slight nod. “She’s been in surgery for a few hours.” She said, her voice soft, answering his unspoken questions. He sat down in one of the cheap, brightly colored plastic seats looked down at his feet.

“I was in church,” Derek began, out of breath. He took several deep breaths. “My phone was turned off.”

A warm hand rested on his shoukder, giving him a slight squeeze. “There was nothing you could have been doing here.” A voice he recognized as Emily assured him, but he still didn't look up.

“The police got any leads?” He asked, his voice rough. He ran a hand across his scalp, finally looking up as he heard Rossi begin to speak.

“I spoke to the lead detective, he doesn't think we'll get anything from the scene.” The older man said and Derek leaned back against the chair, testing his head against the cool, white painted walls of the hospital waiting room.

A young guy in blue scrubs stepped forward, a surgical mask around his neck and his cheeks pink. He wasn’t old enough to be a doctor, Derek thought, an intern, maybe? The man had brown, tousled hair and wide hazel eyes and if it were any other situation, maybe at a bar, Derek would've probably hit on the guy.

His scrubs were bloody too. Even his mask had a drop of blood, and Derek suddenly hoped (and then silently chided himself for doing so) that maybe this intern was going to deliver some news to one of the other people in the waiting room. He had to be a soctor, Derek decides after a moment. There was too much blood covering his scrubs. There was no way that much blood came from his baby girl.

“Penelope Garcia?” The guy asked, even though he obviously had figured out that they (they being the BAU team) were already the recievers of the news.

Both Emily and JJ looked up and answered in the same way, and once again, if it were any other situation, Derek might've laughed.

The entire team held their breath as the guy began to speak, Derek standing up and meeting the doctor’s eyes, his eyes hard. “The bullet went in her chest and ricocheted into her abdomen. She lost a lot of blood. It was touch-and-go for a while, but we were able to repair the injuries.”

“So what are you saying?” Emily asked with a frown.

The doctor cleared his throat before continuing. “One centimeter over and it would have torn right through her heart. Instead, she could actually walk out of here in a couple of days. And I'd say that's a minor miracle.”

Everyone let themselves breathe. Especially Derek, who now looked over the young (too young) doctor with a raised eyebrow. Cute, yes, but did a guy that young really know what he was talking about? “You’re a bit too young to be a doctor, aren't you?”

“Morgan!” JJ scolded before slapping him on the back of his head.

“Hey, hey!” Derek defended, raising his arms like a cooperative unsub (those were way to rare) did when they were cornered. “We were all thinking it.”

 “He’s right.” Rossi shrugged, ever the blunt. “At least, I was.”

The doctor sighed and Derek realized he probably got asked the question a lot. “Well, actually,” He began, ready to give a speech (a long one, by the looks of the big breath he was taking) when Hotch, who Derek hadn't even noticed wasn't there returned, phone in hand. 

“Doctor Reid.”

“Agent Hotchner.” Doctor Reid replied after a moment. He seemed frozen like a deer in headlights. Not afraid, no, starstruck, nervous maybe?

 “It’s good to see you again. I see you’ve settled in well.” The unit chief continued. “What are you, in your last year of residency?”

 “Actually, I’m a trauma attending.” A pause, and Doctor Reid continued. “This is your team?”

Okay, this was strange. Derek was confused as to A, how Doctor Reid knew about Hotch having a team, and B, how Hotcb knew this guy in the first place. Virginia Grace had a lot of doctors, and Derek had never seen the same one twice.

“The BAU team, yes.” Hotch started to walk closer to them, a grim look on his face. “Garcia’s out of surgery, then?”

Doctor Reid looked at his clipboard, then back up to Hotch, his face a bit red. “Uh, yes, um. Yeah. She’s sleeping right now, and she needs her rest, so please don’t try to wake her up so soon. Room 9725, in the recovery wing.” 

The team, still looking a little confused, muttered their thank you’s, and began making their way to room 9725. Derek followed but kept glancing back, his face expressionless. He tagged behind the team, trying to hear what Hotch had stayed behind to talk to this Doctor Reid about. His head poked out of the corridor, trying to get a visual sense to what he was hearing.

“Gideon’s retired.” Derek managed to hear Hotch say. “But his offer still stands; you would be a great asset to our team.”

This guy knew Gideon too?

Doctor Reid didn't say anything, but even Derek could feel the nervousness/starstruckness radiating off the guy. Hotch nodded and turned to follow the team, Derek’s head disappearing before they could see.

He waited until Hotch was next to him, his hands in his pockets as he stared straight ahead at the other three of his team, still making their way to Garcia’s room. “Who was that guy?” Derek asked after a few seconds. “He knew what he was talking about, right? No over exaggerations?” 

Hotch took another minute to respond, his face as stoic as always. “Doctor Spencer Reid is an old friend of Gideon’s, and I have never known him to be wrong about his words, and I doubt I ever will.” The dark haired man’s faster steps signaled the end of the conversation.

That was the last they spoke of him for a while.


	3. The Name of the Game

_A good basketball game can have us all on the edge of our seats. Games are all about the glory, pain and the play by play. And then there are the more solitary games. The games we each play all by ourselves. The social games, the mind games. We use them to pass the time to make life more interesting... to distract us from what's really going on. There are those of us who love to play games, any game. And there are those of us who love to play a little too much. Life is not a spectator sport. Win, lose, or draw, the game is in progress whether we want it to be or not. So go ahead... argue with the ref, change the rules, cheat a little, take a break and tend to your wounds. But play. Play. Play hard, play fast... play loose and free. Play as if there's no tomorrow. Okay, so it's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game... right?_

_-Grey's Anatomy (2x22)_

 

___

 

 The next time Derek saw the kid, it was after the whole Clark Battle fiasco. Penelope, two nights before, had called him up and shyly asked him to come with her to her post-op check-up. He agreed, obviously; this was his baby girl they were talking about. What wouldn’t he do for her.

She was nervous, to the say the least. As Derek drove them to Virginia Grace, she kept tapping against the tinted window in a pattern that went surprisingly well with the music that was playing on the radio. The ride was calm and quiet, which was a first for Penelope in Derek’s standards.

“You okay, baby girl?” He asked, his face not straying away from the road.

Penelope hummed in response, scrunching up her nose. “It’s just.. weird. You know?” She took a deep breath and Derek prepared himself for a rant. “One of the reasons I applied for a hackery-ing job was to not be.. in so much..”

“Danger?"

“Yeah, danger. A desk job keeps you safe, right? Not safe from any of those horrible pictures and videos that I have to comb through all the time— like, jeez, Derek, how are you not sick of those poor innocent people suffering all the time?” She sighs. “When you get a desk job, out of the field, no one is supposed to get hurt. Not you, not the people you work with; no one.”

“Not even us?”

“Not even you.” She confirmed. “I know it’s stupid but.. I had time to think. If a desk job won’t keep you safe, what will?”

“The risk comes with the job, Penelope.” He said, trying his best to reassure her. “You know this.”

“Yeah..” She trailed off.

“But I get what you mean.  I had a desk job too, you know. I feel we all have. False sense of security.”

There’s a moment of silence before Penelope responded, a hint of laughter in her voice. “You think Hotch had a desk job?”

Derek couldn’t help but snort. “I can’t even imagine Hotch just sitting at a desk, playing with a bobblehead.” He answered, a small grin forming on his face.

Penelope laughed, and he feels that everything is better, even if it’s just for a little bit.

_

Derek did not expect to see that freakishly tall doctor so soon. Sure, it had only been a month since that professional jackass Clark Battle  put a bullet in his baby girl, but when Garcia asked him to come with her to the check-up or whatever, he did not expect the fact that he would be conducting the check-up.

“Spencer!” Penelope squealed when he walked into the room, and the kid blushed in response. “How’s my lil’ doctor doing?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that, Miss Garcia.”

“Still with the formalities? C’mon, Spencer, I thought we were friends enough to ditch the whole Miss and Mr thing.”

Okay, woah, back up. When had Penelope gotten so buddy buddy with the doctor (now known as Spencer Reid, he noted)?

“Hey, doc.” Derek said, saying something before Penelope could.

“Uhm, hi. Hello. I’m—“

“Doctor Reid, yeah, I remember. you remember me?”

“Of course. I would never forget a face.”

Penelope smirked. She jumped up on the hospital bed, her orange and pink clothing somehow brightening up the dull and dark hotel room. ‘Spencer has an photographic memory.”

“Eidetic, actually.” Reid said timidly, making eye contact with Derek before quickly turning  away, blushing even more. “Did you know that—“

“Sorry to interrupt, but,” Derek sighed. “Aren’t nurses or residents supposed to do the once-over?” At least, that’s how it went for him. He’d had his fair enough of check-ups and injuries to know the basics of how a hospital worked.

“Well, yes.” The doctor trailed off, biting his lip. “It’s my break right now— well, not technically, as I’m here, but I like to sometimes help out around the hospital. there’s a lot of patients here and not nearly enough personnel.”

Derek leaned back in his chair. “Huh, okay. One more question—“

“Can we get this over with, please? They’re showing a new episode of my favorite show at 5, and I would really appreciate it if I didn’t miss it.” Penelope piped up, eyes flicking between the two with an indiscernible amount of emotions on her face.

‘Yeah, absolutely, let’s start.”

_

Derek was not the most trusting person. You get paranoid about six months into the job and to tell you the truth, it gets completely downhill from there. He’s been in the FBI long enough to know that lack of trust appears in about anyone, if you look closely enough (which, fortunately, was his job description). He has been around long enough to watch JJ add an extra lock on her door, to see Hotch carry an extra weapons (three in total, actually), to know Prentiss deletes her electronics’ history after a while, to understand why Rossi constantly looks behind his shoulder and why Derek himself is always closing himself to new people. He doesn’t even trust people completely until they’ve saved him at least once.

It’s brutal, but’s life, and if life weren’t brutal they’d all be out of a job.

So now, when Penelope’s close with a doctor she’s known for only a few weeks, after just being shot by a guy who she was close with for only a few week’s, Derek has a right to be suspicious. Right? That’s why when Penelope was off arranging another appointment in six month’s time, he slid over to the corner the good ol’ doctor was quietly standing, writing furiously on his clipboard.

“Hey, doc.” He said, making the kid jump. He felt bad for a second, but the feeling’s gone and replaced with curiousness within a second.

“Uh, oh, Agent Morgan. Do you need anything?”

“Well, no, not exactly. Just wanted to make conversation while Her Majesty of Gloriousness is at the front desk.”

“Conversation?” Reid repeated, saying it carefully like he’s never heard the word before.

“Yeah, like, how’d you get so close with Garcia so quick?”

“Well, we’re not exactly close. Most people believe closeness is achieved after knowing each other for more than a few months. But in the end, it depends on the person and how comfortable they are with intimacy. For instance, if a female who was very intimate, like Garcia, were to meet a male such as myself, who was—“

“Not comfortable with intimacy?” Derek finished. This guy talked a lot.

Reid nodded, agreeing with his statement. “Precisely.” He shifted uncomfortably. “The female would most likely open up a lot quicker and easier than the other one. A study conducted by Oregon University shows that intimate people are much more trustworthy and are more trusting of others than people who are not intimate.”

“You’re pretty smart for a kid as young as you are.” Derek continued his interrogation. Age seemed to be a soft spot for him, as was intelligence.

“I’m only 27.” Spencer said, scrunching up his nose. “I’m not that young.”

“You are to be an attending.”

“I skipped a few years.”

“And you’re still qualified to work in medicine?”

“I like to think that I deemed myself worthy of a medical degree, yes.”

“How smart are you?”

“I have an IQ of approximately of 182, which is much higher than the American average, which is—“

Derek raised an eyebrow, before interrupting the kid once again. “I don’t need to know so much, man. Where are you from? I’m Chicago— born and raised.”

“Well…” Spencer said, and he looks away awkwardly. Another weak spot.

“You’re a _You must reach Level 3 of friendship before unlocking my Tragic Past_ kinda guy, aren’t you?”

“Uh—“ For a moment Spencer looks a confused, unsure of how to answer. “Well, I did say earlier that I don’t consider myself a very intimate person.”

Derek opened his mouth to answer,  but suddenly Penelope was at his side, as cheerful as ever with no sign of the down-in-the-dumps hacker that he’d been riding with earlier. “Well, time to go!” She announced. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon, Spencer.”

Spencer gave her a small smile. “Hopefully.” He repeated. “Goodbye, M—“

“No formalities.”

“..Penelope.”

“Good.” She grinned before turning to Derek. “To the car?”

“To the car.” Derek confirmed, and as they’re leaving, he can’t help but look back at the doctor, who has a strange expression as his face as he watched them walk off ( ~~Why did he want to reach his level 3 of friendship?~~ ).

_

 

“You boys make friends?” Penelope asked him when they made it to the car, watching him carefully with a smile as he turns the engine on.  He looked back up at her, matching her smile.

“Yeah,” He answered. “I guess you could say that." 

He paused, his mind doing backflips as he chose his next words. "When did you say your next appointment was?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filler? what? i've never heard of it, suddenly i can't read.
> 
> happy holidays, everyone!!!


End file.
